Ursula Le Guin boldly went where few science fiction writers went before – on to the pages of The New Yorker, into the hallowed halls of Stanford University and other premier institutions to serve as writer in residence, to more than a half dozen other institutions of higher learning to pick up honorary degrees. Somehow Le Guin found the magic formula to break through the sharp divide between speculative fiction and literary fiction.

And she did it the hard way. Le Guincrossed over into literary respectabilityby writing well, by refusing to lower herstandards to the sometimes embarras-singly low expectations of the genre, bybuilding a body of outstanding work. With twenty novels to her credit, LeGuin can point to a shelf full of strong,vibrant books – work that has earnedher deserved praise as one of the finestscience fiction writers of her generation.

The Left Hand of Darkness describe theexploits of Genly Ai, a visitor from thepeace-loving Ekumen, a galactic federa-tion of advanced societies, who is at-tempting to bring the androgynous in-habitants of the planet of Gethen intotheir organization. Gethen is a cold planet, but is full of hot-tempered politicians, and Genly focuses on the prime minister of Karhide, an inscrutable character known as Estraven, to help him navigate through the often dangerous political landscape.

This deftly constructed story touches on all of the key themes of Le Guin’s oeuvre. Here she explores the complexity of gender roles, both in their biological and culturally imposed forms. She probes the nature of political institutions and the brokering and intrigue they foster. She examines the fragility of pacifist attitudes as they try to reach a meeting of minds with more belligerent actors in a dynamic setting. She brings her insights to bear on belief systems and mythologies and their influence on individual actions.

Given these themes, Le Guin is often labeled as an exponent of “soft” science fiction, as opposed to the “hard” stuff, which focuses more closely on the scientific trappings of the story. But there is nothing soft about Le Guin’s prose style, which is taut and precise, or her plots, which are built with the solidity and energy of a Saturn V rocket.

Most commentators have focused on the "sex angle" -- don't they always? --highlighting the significance of the androgynous mating practices of the inhabitants of Gethen. But this is merely one element among many others that Le Guin incorporates into her imaginary world. Her novel could, of course, be read as a commentary on gender roles, but just as easily it can enlighten our understanding of political institutions or belief systems. But Le Guin is, above all, a great descriptive writer, and the sheer beauty of her landscapes, the topography of her alien world, even the weather, are as critical to the success of this book as its more overt social themes.

Indeed, Le Guin has largely avoided the two biggest problems with sci-fi books – lackluster writing and childish art on the covers. I give her publishers credit for the subdued covers, but the writing can only be chalked up to her own native genius. The final sections of The Left Hand of Darkness, which describe Genly Ai and Estraven’s dangerous journey, over 840 miles and 81 days, through a frozen glacier land, is one of the finest sustained accounts of tension and adventure in the annals of speculative fiction.